Chapter Eighteen #3
“Why was Henry’s army able to come up behind us?” he demanded. “Your men were scouting, were they not?”
Gallus’ eyes narrowed dangerously at the man as de Montfort spoke.
“We were just discussing that issue,” he said steadily.
“We believe that Henry might have killed them in order to prevent them from warning us. That is, in fact, the only explanation. Gallus’ scouts are beyond reproach.
Go back to your men, Hugh. You are covering my left flank. I suggest you get back there.”
Rebuked and infuriated, Hugh slapped his visor down and charged back to where his men were gathering.
He only had a few hundred with him, a far cry from the thousands he commanded.
He’d sent word to his properties in Norfolk but reinforcements would take time, and time was something they did not have.
Therefore, the barons that usually remained to the back of any battle, watching it rather than participating, now had to actively fight. This included Bigod.
As Hugh rode away in a huff, Tiberius took his place. The knight had his crossbow in hand, something he usually did at the commencement of a battle. He would join the infantry in launching arrows at the opposing infantry.
“The men are positioned, Gallus,” he told his brother, struggling to contain his excited horse. “We will await your signal.”
Gallus lifted a hand, indicating he understood him, and Tiberius thundered off to resume his post, which was traditionally directly behind the archers.
As Tiberius assumed his position, he kept one eye on the incoming army and the other eye on Maximus, who would generally deliver the command to release the arrows.
Now that everyone was in position, it was time to fight and the anticipation grew.
In tense silence they waited, watching the army in the distance as it grew steadily closer.
They were flying standards but as the clouds gathered and the rain began to fall more steadily, it was difficult to see the colors.
In fact, de Montfort’s army began to notice that the incoming army was no longer advancing.
They were forming loose blocks but certainly nothing that seemed threatening.
It was confusing. Tiberius broke ranks and made his way over to Maximus.
“They are slowing down,” he said to his brother. “In fact, it looks to me that they have stopped altogether. Moreover, that does not look to me like ten thousand men. Does it look like that to you?”
Maximus was fixed on the enemy in the distance, wiping the rain out of his eyes so he could see more clearly. “It does not,” he said. “It looks like a few thousand men at the very most. But why have they stopped?”
Tiberius shook his head. “That is a very good question,” he said. “Mayhap we should take advantage of it and rush them while we can. Catch them off-guard, as it were. Mayhap if we can break them and scatter them, we can make our way to Erith and reinforce her ranks before they regroup and charge.”
Maximus nodded. “It sounds like a reasonable idea,” he said. “I will relay it to de Montfort. If he wishes to charge, I will give you the signal. Resume your post and wait for me.”
Tiberius returned to his position, struggling with his frenzied horse, who sensed the approaching battle.
The truth was that he was excited, too. Excited to charge into battle and excited to scatter Henry’s gathered forces.
He was both relieved and confused to realize it wasn’t the ten thousand men d’Vant had spoken of.
He wanted to scatter this army, to crush it, and to send them back where they came from.
It was what Tiberius was born to do, something he’d done a dozens of times in his service as a knight, and the rush of battle was something he fed off of.
Therefore he waited, impatiently, for Maximus to give the signal.
The thunder rolled and the rain began to pound in earnest as the red standards that de Montfort used to signal an attack were raised.
The red standards indicated the infantry and knights while the yellow standards indicated the archers.
The yellow standards weren’t raised at all, leading Tiberius to believed that they were to keep the archers out of it and conserve their arrows for possible use at Erith when, and if, they moved on to the castle.
As the lightning flashed, the red standards were waved, and the rush of horses and infantry began in earnest as they charged towards the distant army.
Tiberius was at the head of the charge. He was leading hundreds of men, setting an example for them, and the crossbow was secured to his saddle in favor of his sword.
With his weapon in hand and shield slung over his left knee, he drew closer and closer to the opposing army who, so far, was simply standing there.
They weren’t moving at all. But that didn’t matter to Tiberius.
He plunged into their lines, swinging his sword, cutting down a standard bearer and trampling on the standard.
He realized too late that it was a de Winter standard.